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Cliff Indignity Can you imagine if you were a cliff, Like Dover's famous crags of sheer white rock— If you had no defense against the whiff Fresh guano leaves when seabirds poop en bloc? For centuries, I've braved the winds that blow, Inspiring poets, who are all at sea, Not underneath the seabirds, or they'd know Divine enchantment is not felt by me! If I could talk to seabirds, I would grouse: Get off my face, you brainless booby birds! Nest somewhere else, perhaps some poets' house. Instead of lauding cliffs, they'd curse your turds! ... Though poets write of heavenly allure, Yet sheer indignity's what I endure! (January, 2021; first published in the May 2021 issue of Better Than Starbucks) |
Our Planet Earth One straw, alone, may break a camel's back. Until that day its load may grow unchecked. Removal of one tree to build a shack Portends no risk its forest may be wrecked. Low yield, in just one field, may be made high At once with an intensive tillage scheme. Not much top soil or carbon's lost thereby— Except, in time, not much grows to extreme ... Those actions which alone mean little harm En masse erode the soil beneath our feet And banish earthworms needed on the farm, Releasing carbon, priming Earth to heat. To cool Earth now needs more than just no-till— Humanity needs great collective will! (Prompted by Kiss the Ground and first published in Current Conservation on June 4, 2021 with illustrations by Ritika Nair) |
A Distant Memory All I remember of my youngest years Does not require much space inside my brain: I'm five or six before my life appears So clearly that strong memories remain. There's so much that I yearn to understand About my first few years, but may not learn, Now that they're buried in a foreign land To which I can but fleetingly return ... Mysteriously shrouded from the past Experienced by me so long ago, My mind still wonders how the die was cast On me and asks, is it too late to know? Remembrance of my youngest years may fade, Yet still I yearn for clues to how I'm made. (First published on December 30, 2020 in Grand Little Things) |
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The Pluviophile Today I'll rock and watch this leaden sky, Hour after hour, and never once complain, Ensconced beneath a roof that keeps me dry— Porch rockers are most restful in the rain! Low light makes sunshine lovers mope and whine— Umbrellas are a sight they can't abide. Verandas during rain are my cloud nine— It's gloom that lets you see my sunny side! ... On rainy days, the cheerfulness of me Perplexes sunshine lovers who, I trust, Have judged me off my rocker, though they see I'm very firmly on it. So I must Lack kinship with the sunshine lover's brain— Except, I can't stand getting drenched by rain. (First published in the Winter/Spring 2022 issue of Light on 16th May, 2022) |
Soaky Or Crunchy? Since childhood, I've loved soggy Weetabix: One hour of soaking made it right for me, And though I could not stomach politics, Kids often are as they'll turn out to be ... Your Weetabix was never soft to munch: Once you had wet it, you ate right away, Replenishing your stomach with a crunch— Could you have then imagined you today? ... Remember Adler, Freud and all that jazz Upholding how we're shaped by early years? Now I'm a soppy liberal, whereas Conservative hard-liners are your peers ... How breakfast augurs, politics align: You crunched your Weetabix, I deep-soaked mine! (First published in the Summer 2021 issue of Rat's Ass Review) |
Spinning A Dream Sweet dreams, my little child! But when you wake, Please do not think the bottom of the stair Is where we are ordained to stay. We'll make New lives for us across the ocean where New York now beckons. What will Mama do? I may not get flax-spinning work full-time. No matter! I'll take any job, so you Get educated, and we both may climb ... A steamship sails next week, and once we're there, Dreams will not be just dreams for you and me. Remember how your uncles climbed the stair: Embarking for the New World was the key ... America awaits. But till we steam, May you sleep sweetly, while I spin our dream! (Prompted by Maria Marinetti's Spinning Flax and first published in the Ekphrastic Review on January 29, 2021 as a Challenge Response) |